A Study in Normality: A Story in Several Parts
by CSINut214andScullyAsTrinity
Summary: What would you say if we asked you to define normal?
1. Chapter 1

Lauren's A/N: Yeah that hiatus thing...yeah. The Gang of Two is BACK!  
Leslie's A/N: Ohhhh, look, a shiny, new fic! (pokes at it...)

* * *

'Poke.' 

He rolled over with a grimace and moaned low in his throat. He didn't open his eyes. Sleep, so very, very precious; such a delicate bubble he had only learned to appreciate very recently. A flimsy latticework he took great care to surround himself with. Apparently though, she wasn't content with the shape and size of his bubble and was very content on popping it.

Due to his recent taking to certain extracurricular activities he'd needed more sleep than usual, but he saw that as a necessary drawback, especially since he found himself wrapped inside of her warm body nearly every night.

'Poke... poke.' Her finger prodded the warm skin of his bicep but to no avail. 'Poke, poke... poke, poke.' "Damn it, get up!"

He flipped back over, dragging the blankets with him. She giggled as he poked his head out from the cotton cocoon he'd managed to construct. "Augh, go away," he begged, his voice thick with sleep and kisses yet to be spent. Then a pillow was pulled firmly over his head as he attempted to hide from her. The naked expanse of his back was simply begging to be kissed, golden and smooth, but she had things to attend to first.

'Poke...'

"No!"

"Yes!" she retaliated. 'Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke, poke-' and he grabbed her hand, flipped over and pulled her down into the bed.

Grissom's smile was naughty and he grabbed her other wrist and held them by her sides. Her smile, on the other had, was angelic, attempting to feign innocence at what had just transpired.

"It's time to get up," she whispered. Grissom rolled his eyes and kissed her neck.

He shook his head and pulled her closer to him. "Come back to bed..." And she didn't have time to respond because she chose to kiss him instead, a sweet longing bubbling up in her stomach. It felt like a laugh waiting to break free but it was really just the contentment of knowing that forever was a definite, a for sure for the both of them.

"Come on," she mumbled around his lips but to no avail. His tongue stole the words from her mouth and she began kissing him back.

Often times, she looked at it this way: if she was late to work it was only because they were making up for truly lost time, and what could be wrong with that?

One of his hands trailed gently up her side and lifted her shirt over her head. "We don't have time for this, we have plans," she rasped out. "Home Depot..."

He begged to differ, and showed her so with his lips. Sara began to laugh, delighted giggles bubbling up in her throat as he kissed down her arms. "I missed mornings, I forgot they could be good, waking up during them," he mumbled against her skin. Grissom smiled like a moron as he kissed her, basking the amazing fact that every inch of skin on her body was his to kiss.

It had taken him a while to get his head out of his ass, but when he did, she had simply shrugged and kissed the confusion right out of him. It had been amazing from the beginning, more stunning than he could have imagined. There were no first date jitters mainly because they didn't categorize it as a date; they merely went out to dinner.

Halfway through the appetizer, she had nearly shot wine out of her nose at one of his jokes and he was sold: forever. That was exactly what her voice sounded like and what the light in her eyes meant and even the way she dressed, it was all forever.

The first time they made love, it was triggered by the strangest thing. He'd come to her apartment to watch movies, but the two of them had ended up sitting at her kitchen table, perusing old forensic journals. She was there, hair pulled haphazardly out of her face, long legs peeking out of boy shorts eating cherries.

When he'd heard the pit clink against the porcelain of the bowl she'd placed in front of her, he'd taken his eyes off the article and had allowed them to begin the long journey up her legs, twine around her torso and settle ultimately on her face. She'd spit another pit out into the bowl and he'd said it: "Dear god, I love you."

"Excuse me," she asked, tearing her own eyes to his.

"You're... amazing," and with that he'd gotten out of his chair and smothered her with kisses, kisses that eventually peppered down her throat, over her breasts and between her legs. They kissed and kissed and sweated more than a little; ultimately they forgot to wake up for shift, but neither particularly cared.

But that had been months ago and since there had been dinners and arguments, grocery shopping and sessions of make-up sex.

Sara struggled to stave the inevitability of the situation. "C'mon, breakfast."

"Yes," Grissom said, trailed up to suck on her neck. "You do indeed look like breakfast... maple syrup sweetheart," he teased as he sucked on her earlobe. Grissom's tattered fingers ticked her stomach, tracing indistinguishable patterns there. "You're an evil woman Sara Sidle, making me want to stay in bed all day..."

Sara propped herself up on her elbows. "Hey! Hey, hey, I was the one who-"

Again Grissom's lips halted her speech. It was impossible for her to pull away; she'd never been the type of person to find sex to be leisurely fun to be savored, but Grissom had truly made her rescind her views. There was nothing like waking up to the one person you just couldn't seem to get enough of.

But really, they'd spent nearly twelve hours in bed, simply because they could and it was time to get up and start the day. Sara rolled over onto her side and slid out of bed. Grissom pouted to the best of his ability as he watched her go. "Come on, up." Sara paused in the doorway to stare back at him.

The way the light touched his hair, the way his skin peeked out from beneath the crisp, white sheets, the slightly wounded look on his face... they all settled in the delicate alcove of her heart that she had reserved solely for him so many years ago. Making up her mind immediately, she launched herself at the bed, crawling over to him. Grissom grinned as she ran her hands over his chest, straddling his thighs.

"You, Gil, are so very incorrigible..." Leaning down to kiss him, she whispered in his ear, "And I love it, sweetheart."

She was like morning dew to the grass, she clung on him, slid around him delicately, in such a natural and beautiful way. He licked his lips and put on a smug grin, "Knew you couldn't resist me. Guess I haven't lost my touch."

"Hmm not at all, right there, god, Grissom..." Sara giggled and trailed off as Grissom maneuvered them out of their clothes with minimal fuss. "Good at that."

"Oh honey, I'm good at a lot of things," and then he proceeded to show her just a few of the many things he was good at.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** I am a horrible person. ScullyAsTrinity wrote and posted her chapter a month ago, and I'm just writing this now. She is ridiculously patient with me. _

* * *

It had been a rough week, for both of them – pulling several doubles, barely getting to see one another. Finally, they both had a night off from work. After sleeping in all day, they woke up around five and lazed about the house until Grissom felt antsy. 

He scanned the newspaper, looking for something fun to do. Unfortunately, the classiest offering in Las Vegas that week was a musical version of _Dude, Where's My Car_. Finally, he suggested that they see a movie.

Sara looked up from her forensics journal, furrowing her brow. "A movie? What kind?"

"I heard there's a new one out with Brad Cruise, where he plays a forensic investigator."

It was always kind of sad when Grissom tried to follow pop culture. "Griss, you know I hate watching movies like that. They get everything wrong. It's frustrating."

He shrugged. "Nobody's perfect. And it just so happens, those movies are generating a public interest in our field. Juries are more apt to listen to our testimonies now than ever before. Plus–" He waggled his eyebrows. "I heard Brad Cruise shows his butt in this one. And Matt Clooney plays his best friend… he's a babe, right?"

"Stop, before you hurt yourself. I'll go, but on one condition."

"Shoot."

"We have to sit through the whole thing. If we leave early, you…" She racked her brain for a suitable punishment. "You have to give me a pedicure. A deluxe pedicure."

Grissom was not a foot man, not by any means. But Sara's weren't hideous, and he knew he could certainly make it through a two-hour movie. "All right. You've got a deal."

They shook on it.

* * *

"Where are his gloves?" Grissom whispered, staring at the screen. "And who processes scenes without a shirt on?" 

"I told you," she hissed back. "Should I get my foot scrub ready?"

"No, I'm not leaving… I'm just–" He winced as the heartthrob placed evidence in a cloth bag. "Just saying."

From the looks of things, the show was sold out – he'd been right about the public's burgeoning interest in forensic investigation. They'd been lucky to find two seats together. Grissom grabbed an obscenely large handful of popcorn, stuffing his face in the appalling manner which only seems normal under the dark cover of a movie theater.

_Damn_, the dashing man onscreen swore. _I've gotten some of this evidence on my clothes. That means that… my clothes are now evidence. I'll have to process the rest of this scene… naked._

Grissom began to choke on his popcorn as Sara thumped him across his back soundly. The other people in the audience watched, enthralled, as the intrepid investigator began swabbing and dusting in the buff.

"This is absurd!" Grissom whispered between coughs.

"Actually, it's brilliant," she said, smirking at the screen. "Nude crime scenes. I'm telling you, this will catch on."

"Will not," he shot back.

_Oh, my goodness_, gasped a buxom blonde woman as she walked in on the attractively crouched figure of the buck-naked CSI. _What in the world is going on here?_

_I got evidence on my clothes_, he replied seriously.

_You are so dedicated_, she said lustily, shedding her own clothes and running into his embrace, still wearing her stiletto heels.

At this point, Grissom's head was in his hands, and Sara was laughing out loud.

"It's not funny!" he protested. "Look at that, she's bracing her hands against the piano – he never did get around to dusting that. They're destroying evidence, and–"

_I have an idea_, the screen star said suddenly. _We know that the victim was tied up with this rope before he killed her. Why don't I tie you up with this same rope while we make love, and you'll be able to understand the victim better?_

_You're brilliant_, the woman cooed. _You should really write a forensics manual._

"Hey… you want to leave?" Sara asked him quietly, taking in the sight of Grissom's tightly clenched fists and wondering what exactly his pulse rate was at now.

"No, it's okay. I can do this." He began to breathe easier as the love scene ended. "I can do this. Yeah. Okay."

They watched as the investigators arrived at a new crime scene.

"That corpse is pretty accurate-looking," Sara said, trying to ignore the fact that the body was still breathing.

"I guess."

The studly cinematic CSI bent over the dead body, peering at it closely.

_See anything interesting? _asked his blonde cohort, thrusting out her chest unneccessarily.

_It's hard to figure out time of death_, he answered, squinting and pursing his lips. _There's been extensive insect contamination. I'll have to get rid of them to look closer. _With that, he started brushing the bugs off the corpse, stomping on them and kicking them away as the woman swooned.

* * *

They went out to dinner with Catherine and Warrick the following night. 

"Fabulous dress," Catherine whispered to Sara as they made their way to a table in the crowded restaurant. "And your toes look fantastic in those sandals. Where do you find the time to get a pedicure?"

"Oh, I manage. So, seen any good movies lately?"


	3. Chapter 3

"You know what I like about you?" Sara asked, folding a sweater neatly and placing it in the laundry basket. Grissom was seated on 'his' side of the bed, glasses on, skimming through some obscure entomological text with boyish interest. That always got to her, the way he was interested in everything. He glanced over it at her and delved back in. She loved these moments.

Sara sighed and chuckled lightly. "This is where you ask me 'why', Griss, in case you didn't know." It was said in jest and he took it as so, wetting his lips. It was nice that they were finally on the same page (the page that said 'happily ever after' with a set of ellipses to follow...)...

Placing his reading material down on the nightstand he glanced at her with a heart stopping grin and stop her heart it did. "If you say my charm, I might just get up and leave right now." They both knew he didn't really have anything that she could rightly call 'charm'.

Sara threw a pillowcase at him, feeling lovely fluttering in her stomach. It was amazing how that excitement never ceased. "No, you're weirder than I am," she reasoned. "And that's saying something."

"Thank you?" He replied, stretching out a bit, still in his boxers and white tee shirt, evening light barely managing to break through the barrier of the blinds.

"But other than that," she continued, taking the basket of neatly folded clothes and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

"You need just as little sleep as I do." She bent over and kissed him on the nose; it felt more precious than their lovemaking did.

Yawning and stretching, Grissom grabbed her hand as she was about to retreat. "That's a good thing?"

"'Course it is, leaves time for much more _fun_ activities."

His eyes lit with a spark and he brought her down for an extremely languid kiss. Her eyes were still closed when she pulled back, a smug smile on her face. Sara felt, well, deep down inside she felt this wonderful sense of complete rightness with the world.

True, there were so many wrongs that needed to be righted, but at that particular moment, in that particular pocket of the world... she didn't care.

Love was this beautifully weighty thing, something that needed nurturing, careful attention and two very willing partners. She, for her part, was more than willing, more, more more than willing. There was simply nothing about the man in front of her, the insurmountable Gil Grissom... that she did not love.

Certainly, there were things that she didn't like about him. For one, he didn't enjoy the few television shows that she indulged in and he found rice to be a sixth food group. He also drove too fast, didn't enjoy the scent of peaches and found the color red to be particularly irksome... but she loved him.

And he loved her.

Strange as it was, they were perfect for each other in every dysfunctional way imaginable. "We need to get ready for work," he mumbled against her lips and upon hearing the words, she smacked her lips and pulled back.

"That we do," Sara said brightly and made her way to the bathroom.

Grissom bounded out of the bed (to the best of his ability) and followed her. "Hey," he protested, hands on his hips, "I get to go first, you take forever."

Sara was already out of her shirt, naked from the waist up. A glare was sent his way as she made her way over to the shower, placing her shampoo on the tub's ledge. "Yeah, okay," she huffed sarcastically.

"Please?" he asked. "Because I have to shave too," Grissom continued on.

But Sara just stared at him, considering his plea. The things she could do...

Suddenly she grabbed one of her dirty tank tops from the top of the hamper. "C'mere," and she kissed him _again_.

Dear god, she could not get enough of his lips, could not get _enough_. There was so much texture, so much variation in one kiss that she couldn't help stealing one at every turn. With her lips still against his, she spoke, "Let me shave you."

Grissom pulled back. "You want to... give me... a shave."

"Yes." Her eyes were serious and yet pleading.

"Okay," he finally said, a note of optimism residing in the topmost layer of his baritone. The grin that she gave him was arousing to say the least and he settled back against the wall so that she could pull his razor and shaving cream down from the shelf in the medicine cabinet. He watched her short movements, her meticulous methods as she puttered about before him.

He was still amazed that he had a shelf in her medicine cabinet; he mused on that for awhile.

When she was finally ready, she hopped up onto the sink, threw in the stopper and crooked an index finger at him. He went willingly to her, shedding his shirt on the way. His smile was low, somewhat shy as he stepped in between her legs, placing his hands on her hips.

"Trust me?" she asked as a precursor, filling the basin with warm water.

"Always, honey," he whispered back and waited for her to make a move.

Sara sat on the sink, legs abnormally, stunningly, gorgeously long in her pink, polka dot boy shorts. His eyes, much like his hands were naturally drawn to the smooth expanses of skin. She chuckled when his fingers squeezed the muscles at the top of her thighs.

With care tantamount to working with evidence, she squeezed some shaving cream onto her hand and smoothed it over his cheeks, taking a distinct pleasure in leaning in and delicately kissing him. He smiled against her lips and kissed her back slowly, deliberately. When they disengaged, she smiled, her lips and teeth capturing his gaze so she had the opportunity to dot his nose with a dob of shaving cream.

Grinning at his stunned expression, she dipped the razor in the sink, wetting it. With care and intensity, she brought the blades against his face, waiting until he gave some sort of signal that he was ready to proceed. Grissom's lips twitched, his eyes still firmly on hers. He blinked once, twice and smiled slightly.

Sara took that as a sign to proceed and pulled the razor along the edge of his facial hair, shaving away the random hairs that didn't belong on the grid that was his beard. And a damn sexy beard it was, she thought. It was something she took particular pleasure in grabbing onto during their more passionate moments.

She dunked the dirty tool into the water and brought it back up to his face.

He wanted to ask her to be careful, if only out of habit, but he didn't. There was no other way for her to be. He doubted she would give him less than one hundred percent of her attention. Grissom's blue eyes were drawn to her lips, pursed in concentration.

Sara traced along the curved edge of the facial hair that graced his cheeks. Again, she dipped the razor into the cloudy water and brought it back up to his face. Sara moved to the right cheek, delicately pulling the sharp edge along his skin, beginning to hum as she worked.

He admired her thoroughness, going back to catch any stray hairs that she had missed. He focused on her eyes for a moment, then moved onto the creases in her forehead, a sign that she was truly concentrating.

Once she was satisfied with the job she'd done with the upper portion, she wiped his face gently with a warm, damp washcloth. A raised brow on her part invited a slow kiss as a thank you. Sara hummed deeply when his lips fell upon hers, deeper than she had when she was going about the shaving.

They broke away and she pressed his chin towards the ceiling with a single index finger and began work on his neck.

She moved the sharp metal around deliberately, easily, taking away the hairs that had the audacity to grow out of pattern.

Her fingers trailed straight after the blades, as if soothing his skin. They walked over his jugular and skated up the front of his Adam's apple as she finished up with her inspection of his beard.

Sara pulled back and had him tilt his head left, then right, up and then down and was finally satisfied with the job she had done. Again, she brought the wash cloth up to wipe away the traces of white foam she had left.

And when she was completely done, she grinned at him, a victory in the wattage. "I have to shower," she said, sliding down off of the porcelain, into his arms.

"So do I," he replied. "What a coincidence."

Her grin was mischievous as she shed her clothes and tossed them onto the hamper, turning back after she had stepped into the tub. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, naked leg peeking out from behind the frosted shower curtain. He too stepped out of his clothes and followed her into the shower.

Laughter bounced off of the tiled walls when he turned on the water and pulled her into his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:** Okay, just had to share… when I showed this chapter to ScullyAsTrinity, she said "Hey, turns out I'm allergic to CSINuts."_

* * *

"What are you in the mood for?" 

Sara looked up from the laundry she was folding and cocked her head thoughtfully. "I don't really have a preference… you?"

Grissom shrugged. "Anything's fine."

"Global food, then?"

"Sure."

She made her way over to the large globe of the earth that stood in the corner of his living room. "How many seconds?"

He pursed his lips. "Five."

Placing a steadying hand on the frame, she spun the globe, counting to five before jabbing her finger on a random spot. "Okay, looks like… Italy."

"You sure?"

"Well, it's on the border of Italy and Slovenia," she conceded. "Know any good Slovenian restaurants in the area?"

"Italian it is. And I know just the place."

* * *

Vincenzo's was off the beaten path, but fairly busy for a Wednesday evening. Grissom and Sara explored the modest gardens surrounding the restaurant, enjoying the cool night air until their number was called. Within minutes, they were seated at a candlelit table, sipping white wine. The waiter presented them with a basket of warm, crusty bread, along with a bowl of seasoned olive oil. 

"Yeah, this totally beats Slovenian food," Sara said, licking oil and salt off her fingertips.

"Like you'd know," he retorted, tearing off another hunk of bread. "At least your finger didn't land in Antarctica this time."

She grimaced. That night, they'd been forced to eat frozen dinners. "Okay, but you were the one who pointed to Anchorage last week."

"Baked Alaska and Eskimo pies," he recalled blissfully. "Who needs vitamins, anyway?"

They both opened their menus while munching on bread. As always, Grissom began by quickly scanning the menu for meatless items. Satisfied that Sara would have enough options, he spotted an old favorite of his own.

"Have you decided what you would like this evening?" The waiter was back, filling their glasses with ice water and brandishing a pad of paper.

"I'll have the mushroom ravioli," Sara said, handing him her menu.

"That comes with a choice of soup or salad," the waiter replied. "Which do you prefer?"

"Salad, please."

"Very good. And you, sir?"

"Linguini with pesto sauce," Grissom said. "And minestrone soup."

"Excellent choice. I'll be right back with your soup and salad."

As the waiter darted away, Sara gazed around the restaurant. It was filled with couples chatting quietly and enjoying the food and wine. "Where'd you hear about this place?"

"Oh, I found it years ago."

"When you were romancing a different woman every weekend?"

"Right," he said, smiling wryly. "No, I came here alone. Usually with a book."

"So how did you find it?" she pressed. "Word of mouth?"

"No, actually," he replied, as the waiter set a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. "Believe it or not, I came out here on a case."

Her eyes widened as she speared some lettuce with her fork. "Ooh, tell. What dirty secret are they hiding?"

"Well," he said reluctantly, picking up a spoon, "the owner's son disappeared."

"Uh huh..."

"And it turned out he'd been murdered, and his remains had been cooked into the minestrone soup." Grissom slurped his soup nonchalantly as Sara started at him, utterly aghast.

"You're kidding."

"Of course I'm kidding," he chuckled. "I came out on a suspected arson. When I looked at all the evidence, it was clear that the source of the fire had been electrical wiring. Definitely accidental. The owner was so relieved that the insurance was going to pay that he treated me to dinner that night. And I just kept coming back."

"Alone," she said sadly.

He just smiled. "Till now."

When their entrées arrived, she claimed that the ravioli was the best she'd ever eaten. "Really, Griss, you've got to try this."

Leaning over the table, he helped himself to a bite. "Wow, that _is_ good. Try some of mine."

She shook her head, her mouth full of food.

"Just one bite. Their pesto sauce is amazing."

"Can't," she said after she'd swallowed. "I'm allergic to pine nuts." Sara kept eating until she noticed the silence, and looked up to find Grissom staring at her in horror. "What?"

"You're allergic to pine nuts?"

"Yeah..."

"Since when?"

"Since always."

"How could I not know that?" Dropping his fork, Grissom began gesturing wildly with his hands. "What if one night I'd cooked you a surprise dinner, and you hadn't known there were pine nuts in it?" he asked. "What then?"

"Then... my mouth would tingle and go numb," she said, trying not to smile in the face of his obvious distress. "And a couple hours later I'd be fine."

"What else should I know about? Do you have any other allergies? Any diseases that run in your family, that I should look out for?"

She grasped his hand gently. "Grissom, take a breath. I'm not allergic to anything else. Nothing runs in my family. I'm fine."

He sulked for a moment, then squeezed her hand and let go, turning back to his food. "You better be fine," he mumbled.

"I am."

"Maybe we should schedule an appointment with your doctor, just to make sure."

"Knock it off, or I'll try your linguini."

Her threat did the trick, and he twirled more pasta on his fork before freezing again. "Wait."

"What?"

"Does this mean I can't kiss you? I mean, if I kiss you will your mouth go numb?"

She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Baby, when you kiss me, _everything _goes numb."

"You did not just call me baby," he groused. "I'm practically old enough to be your father."

"Ooh, want me to call you Daddy?"

"Sara!"

She giggled helplessly as he turned red.

"It's not funny."

"Sorry," she said, looking anything but.

"I'll go online and do some research when we get home," he said pensively. "I bet there's a list somewhere of all foods that have pine nuts in them."

"Like pine nut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

"No puns," he groaned.

"Not a fan?"

He shook his head. "I guess I'm allergic to pun nuts."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jesus!" a high-pitched shriek came from the direction of his kitchen and he nearly fell off of the sofa. "Get over here you little bastard!"

Grissom was just beginning to unwind from the case that he and Sara had just processed. The sheer volume of evidence had left them high strung and on edge and they both had to rely on copious amounts of caffeine to make it through shift.

A shriek resounded and Grissom's eyes finally popped open in alarm.

From his position in the living room, he couldn't see much, he could just hear. Towards the right of his field of vision, Sara suddenly straightened, hair askew, eyes blazing, rolled up papers in hand; she was even sweating a bit. Naughty thoughts filtered up through him, but he suppressed them when she began to heave loud breaths in anger.

Quickly she glanced at it, tossing loose chunks of hair out of her face, "Just, just gimme a second here, I gotta... just give me a second." With that, she disappeared from his line of sight once more.

There was a thump and a squeak and then he heard Sara string together words that she only uttered in the bedroom but this time, they were said with such distain that it shocked him. "You goddamned-" and then she was off running, the expletives coming in droves.

Grissom finally abandoned his warm little nook on the couch. "What in heaven's name are you doing?" he asked, rounding the divider to find Sara on hands and knees on the linoleum floor, shoe in hand. The overall picture of her, disheveled and annoyed was rather adorable to him but he reined in the smile that threatened to take over his face; she wouldn't find his amusement... amusing.

Meaning to toss her hair over her shoulder and look up at him, she only managed to whack her forehead on the overhang of his makeshift kitchen table.

"Oh, honey," he stepped over and gently smoothed his thumb over the red mark, "Get off the floor, what are you doing?"

Pouting, she shifted out into the light. "I was trying to kill that, that... bug." Her face twisted a bit in disgust.

Grissom's face went slightly aghast; she had anticipated it. "Kill it? You don't like them?"

"Babe," she said, picking herself up and plunking herself down in a chair next to where he stood. "I sleep in a room that houses a very large, furry, intimidating tarantula." Smiling, he too sat down, running a hand through his hair trying to wrap his mind around why Sara would want to kill an insect; he didn't think she had it in her. "Bugs are fine... bugs OUT of their habitats or terrariums or WHATEVER do not belong amongst us humans, they do not belong crawling around the kitchen where we eat." Again, she glanced down, eyes shifting about attempting to find the elusive creature.

"I don't think you're threatened of Larry," Grissom said off-handedly and she grinned. Fingers thrummed on the table as he asked, "But uh…well, what..." he glanced down at the floor, trying very hard not to seem too interested. As if he wasn't interested... "What kinda bug was it?"

Sara slapped a palm down on that table, nearly belying her agitation at the insect by giving in to his inquisition and smiling. "Grissom, they're dirty." Reigning in her delight at the interest etched on his face, she set her mock-stony gaze on him.

"But that only implies that I love dirty things..." He reasoned innocently, licking his lips in the process.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, "Oh, I know you do but that's not the point." A few moments passed, Sara watching Grissom's backside as he crawled along the floor.

"What uh, what's the point here?"

"The point is, I don't want insects to have the chance to crawl into my MOUTH while I sleep," she spoke vehemently.

Grissom chuckled and got down on his hands and knees much like she had been before. "Well, you certainly snore loud enough, so your mouth is open _pretty_ wide..." Grissom hadn't thought that through and she shifted her leg and kicked him in the ribs. "I didn't mean that..."

He saw her feet move on the floor as she made her way to the fridge. A moment later a hand appeared, a can of iced tea in it. "No thank you," he replied and she moved off to put the can back. A crack resounded in the otherwise-quiet kitchen as she opened her beverage. Grissom's hands slid along the floor as he scoured.

"Oh great, this is disgusting. Grissom, it's on the damn blender!"

The fact that Grissom even had a blender frightened her a bit (no man had a blender, not before they were married), but when she saw the scuttling brown _thing_ on the appliance, she fought the urge to jump up onto a chair. She wasn't scared of insects, really, she wasn't... she just didn't want them crawling on _her_... or _near_ her. "The roach is over _there!_"

Grissom stood up too fast and whacked his head just as she had. "Shit! Where? A roach?" Grissom scrambled to the counter but found no bug. "You were gonna kill a cockroach?" His eyes went wide, palms open at his sides. "How could you?"

Scoffing, she hopped up onto the table, planting her tush down on the sports page. "Yeah, let's redirect the real issue to be me not loving the creepy crawlies. Real mature of you."

Sara placed her Parade magazine weapon down on the table. "Oh god," she said, eyes still trained on the strong lines of his back, his thighs as they held him up. "This means we-I uh, you, this means you have roaches, doesn't it?"

"No, I don't, which is why I'm wondering how he got… in… here…couldn'ta escaped…" Again, Grissom ducked his head to look for the bug that had eluded Sara; it had to have been incredibly fast in order to escape her.

The tiny brown thing sped across the back of the sink. "Damn, you're fast, c'mere..." Grissom spoke to it. Briefly, he glanced back at Sara, whose expression was darkening by the second. "Don't make this a thing," he begged, sharp eyes glancing around.

"I... Jesus Gil, I'm not making this anything! It's a-ON THE LEDGE! THE LEDGE!" Sara pointed excitedly at the opposite wall where the roach was sitting, possibly shaking its tiny little insect butt at them. "Gil, there, there, get it!"

Griss whipped around and knocked several dishes out of the drainer. They smashed on the floor and the tiny thing ran away again.

Taking a sip from her can, Sara sputtered, "You're too damn slow, just whack it with a newspaper and be _done_ with it!"

Gil shook his head hard, bending down, searching the floor again. "That bug could be the ticket, you saw how fast he was!"

"You're kidding me! You're going to keep him?" Rolling the magazine back up, she sat alert, on watch.

Licking his lips in a way that stirred something in her (it always stirred something in her, who was she kidding?) he tip toed across the floor. "Of course." He said it matter of factly, like really... she should have known that. "What else would I do?" Grissom turned to grin at her, "I'm not like you Sara."

"Nice, say that to the _vegetarian_."

As he was laughing he leapt across the kitchen and sank to his knees quickly, a dull popping reminding him of the years that he had lived. Sara watched as he reached out and scooped something into his hands, no doubt the thing that had run so fast from her.

And he held his hand out, the cockroach resting in his palm but her eyes were trained on his face. So boyish, so awash with delicate delight that she had to smile as he presented her with the treasure. "Aptera fusca," he said breathlessly.

Before she could say anything, before she could grab him and just kiss, kiss, kiss him... he got up and scrambled towards the back of the townhouse, cooing to his new friend.

When he returned she was waiting for him, weight leaning on her left leg. "This is why I keep falling in love with you," she huffed, as if agitated. "Just stop it!" But she slung her arms over his shoulders anyway. "Stop it, kay?" God, she hated getting wrapped up in those tender moments, the moment when it felt as if everything was made of cotton candy or fluffy bunnies or other sweet things that she normally couldn't stand.

But Grissom _was_ sweet, and she adored that about him.

"And if I said no?"

Sara gripped his shoulders hard. "If you say no then... oh I don't care." He chuckled against her lips as he kissed her. She wound her hands around his neck and allowed her eyes to flutter back open to settle on... the blender.

"Damn it!" she swore, glancing over his shoulder towards the appliances, seeing the bowl of fresh fruit placed in front of it. "And I wanted to make smoothies!"

Grissom chuckled and cradled her head against his shoulder, swaying slowly. Finally, the pressure in his chest bubbled up, released in laughter. "Sorry," she whispered into the softness of his shirt.

Grissom smiled against her hair; she could feel it. "And we, ours," he spoke to her scalp.

"Huh?"

Lifting her chin, they gazed at each other, mirth and confusion in hers, simple delight in his. "This place. My place… is ours, for future reference… and if you want it to be."

On a sigh she placed her cheek back on his shoulder and smiled. "What are _we_ going to name _our_ new pet?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**CSINut214's A/N**: I'm a horrible person. I was supposed to update this in October. **ScullyAsTrinity** is so patient with me. Thanks to **LauraKatharine **for the read-through, and thanks to anyone still reading!  
_

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"What about Bob?" 

His hand made lazy circles on her flat stomach, and he spooned her a little closer.

"Rubbing my belly won't make a baby appear any faster, Grissom. Didn't you take anatomy?"

"Bob is a good name. Solid name."

She shook her head, and he caught the faint whiff of her shampoo. "Bob makes me think of bobbing for apples. And the head we found bobbing in Lake Mead. What about John?"

"A john is a toilet," he replied. "No way my son's going to be named after a toilet."

"I take it Dick is out of the question then." She giggled as he tickled her side lightly.

"Jimmy?"

"Makes me think of sprinkles. Plus the guys would think we'd named him after Brass, and they'd be hurt."

"Okay," he ceded. "What other ones do you like?"

"Hmm," she pondered. "Freddy?"

"As in Nightmare on Elm Street?"

"No Freddy, then. Scotty?"

"Like the dog?"

"Jebediah?"

"Now you're just screwing with me."

She laughed and turned in his arms, snuggling her face against his chest. "I suppose Gil is out of the question?"

"Yeah, babe, that one was nixed right around the time that you started screaming it out during sex. Besides, it'd be creepy, hearing you holler 'Gil, put your diaper back on' all the time."

"So our son will be an exhibitionist?"

"If he's anything like his mom."

She grinned into his skin as his hands wandered lower. "The doctor said I'll be most fertile on the fifteenth of the month, so we should probably hold off on any extracurricular activities till then."

His groan of disappointment seemed to echo throughout the house. "Well, then we'll need to keep trying to pick a name, because otherwise I can't take responsibility for how my mouth chooses to entertain itself."

"What about family names?"

"Not on my side," he said. "My mom's name is Ethel, and my grandmother was Dorcas."

"We, ah..." She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "We could always call her Dorky."

"You're not a nice lady. What about naming her after something we have a common interest in?"

"Like what? Forensics?"

"Well, no..."

"Body farms?"

"Sara."

"Hot and sweaty marathon sex?"

"Okay, interests are out. So we're back to names we like. Walter?"

"No way. Have you noticed that, like, every other suspect we have is named Walter or Adam? I'm vetoing both of them."

"Donald?"

"Like the duck?"

He smoothed back her hair, kissing her temple. "Perhaps we should work on picking a girl's name first."

"Okay," she agreed. "Suggestions?"

"Mary is a nice name." 

"Too religious. Plus the boys will call her 'Virgin Mary.'"

"Damn right they will," he huffed. "If we have a girl, I'm installing a ten-foot wall around this house. And she'll wear a chastity belt till she's thirty. And maybe a GPS device, too."

"Yeah, that's not creepy or anything."

"What about Kathleen?"

"Too much like Catherine. Jennifer?"

"Too common. Dana?"

"Makes me think of Agent Scully. What about plant or flower names?"

"Like Heather?"

"Okay, so no plant or flower names," she said quickly. "Theresa?"

"No saints. Lorena?"

"As in Bobbitt?"

He felt the involuntary flinch of terror in his groin – the one that every man seemed upon hearing that dreaded name. And judging by Sara's low chuckle, she'd felt his flinch, too.

"Maybe it would help to picture her," she suggested lightly.

"Lorena Bobbitt?" he asked, horrified.

"Our _daughter_, dummy. What do you think she'll look like?"

"Oh. Well, odds are she'll have brown hair."

"With a natural curl," she added. "Brown eyes or blue?"

"Brown," he said immediately. At her questioning glance, he added, "What? I can't want our daughter to look like you?"

"Brown is the dominant gene," she acceded. "But I hope she gets blue eyes."

"And your nose."

"And your butt."

"Oh, _I'm _the creepy one? Who's putting my butt on a baby?"

One of her hands snaked over his waist to pinch the subject at hand. "Mmm, love your butt. What were we talking about?"

"Naming the baby, I think. Jesus, Sara, stop squeezing."

"Mmm. Anyway, what about Wendy?"

"Makes me think of Peter Pan. Margaret?"

"No way, a Judy Blume book scarred me for life on that one. Tonya?"

"As in Harding?"

She heaved a sigh. "_Think_, Grissom. A little girl with brown, curly hair."

"And brown eyes," he added.

"Or blue."

"And your smile."

She didn't bother mentioning the gap. For some reason, he found it cute. "So, brown hair, brown eyes, big smile."

It dawned on him, then. A simple, traditional name. "Sara, what about Gretchen?"

She paused. "Gretchen. That's... _huh_. Gretchen. I like it."

"Yeah?"

Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly. "Yeah."

"Excellent." Terribly pleased with himself, he hummed a little. "Then it's settled. Gretchen Grissom."

They both froze, then glanced at each other.

"Right," she said. "So, not Gretchen."

"Nope. What about Lauren?"

"Ugh, don't get me started."


End file.
